A soft chime echoed through the quiet room as the door slid open with a hiss, letting in a rush of cool, sterilized air and the noise of casual chatter.
Six familiar figures stepped through the doorway—each of them bringing a spark of life into the still room.
Draven was the first to enter, tall and broad-shouldered despite being from a dwarven lineage because of his mother's side. His cadet uniform had been replaced by a dark green bomber jacket layered over a fitted black T-shirt. His jeans were faded, boots scuffed—he looked like he'd walked off the set of a gritty street movie.
His sharp eyes scanned the room quickly, as if always on alert.
Behind him came Alden, radiating smug confidence as always. He wore a pristine white button-up shirt, sleeves rolled to his forearms, the top buttons undone just enough to scream effortless charm.
Slim charcoal-gray trousers and glossy dress shoes completed the "wealthy heir trying not to show off but definitely showing off" look.
